


All Of You

by anxietycheesecake



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 1967 Crowley, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale is chained for a moment, Bastille Crowley, Blow Jobs, Clones, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, Food Kink, Foot Fetish, Group Sex, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Light Bondage, Multi, Noah's Ark Crowley, Not simultaneously - Freeform, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rome Crowley, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Some versions at least, Spanking, Sub Aziraphale (Good Omens), Vaginal Sex, WWII Crowley, flapper crowley, i think that's all, if you blink you miss it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28462539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxietycheesecake/pseuds/anxietycheesecake
Summary: Aziraphale can't forget all those time through history when he denied himself the pleasure of Crowley. Now that they're together, he has a request: spending a whole evening reminding his demons there was not an age when he didn't love him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Nanny Ashtoreth/Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 62
Collections: Good Omens - Kinky Kissmas Exchange





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cindymint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cindymint/gifts).



> So, this is kind of hard to explain. I was assigned to write for the super talented Cindymint for Kinky Kissmas and one of the suggested plots was sub!Aziraphale spending an evening serving Crowley's clones. I kinda made a super free interpretation of it and now we don't have just clones: we have all the versions of Crowley I felt like I could write porn about. Noah's ark, Bastille, Nanny Ashtoreth, the whole gang is here... Well, more or less. I included flapper!Crowley because Neil Gaiman didn't and I skipped a few versions to avoid further confusion and also because I didn't know what to do with them. Hope you don't mind. Let me just say that anyone who wants to play with this concept is encouraged to do just that, probably better than me. I'd die to see more fics about this.
> 
> I divided it in two parts because I just couldn't finish it in time, sorry. It's almost done, but I'd rather focus a bit more in quality and leave you waiting a few days for part two. I recognize this is not my best work and I'll try to do it as good as possible. Maybe this weekend. Turned out to be a little longer than planned, sorry. Hope you like it, dear <3

Aziraphale couldn’t remember the last time he was so nervous about spending an evening with Crowley. In fact, he wasn’t sure there was even a time when he felt such thing. Going back to their first night together, everything came soft and natural, filled with laughter and a deep joy of finding themselves in each other’s arms. There was not enough space for awkwardness or that pit in the stomach when something big is in the horizon.

Who would have guessed that he wouldn’t experience this feeling until almost a year later?

But this was different, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. And although he suggested it and begged for it in every language possible, he still couldn’t help to have a little anxiety over the whole thing.

It somehow made it worse that Crowley expected it. During the days between the night they discussed it and the weekend, he said it over and over:

“It’s fine if you decide you don’t like it.”

“I know, dear,” Aziraphale would reply, simply hoping to be left to read his book at peace at a certain point.

“What I mean is… I mean, it can be a lot. _I_ can be a lot.”

“I already know how you are, dear. And should I remind you we’ve tried things far more risqué than this particular experiment?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s different… I guess I’m just… You don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do.”

“But I asked for it.”

Then the conversation would start again, with Crowley promising that if it became too much, he could stop it at any moment. And the loop continued until Saturday, the chosen evening for their new ‘experiment’, as Aziraphale called it.

When Crowley left that afternoon, while saying goodbye at the door —even though it wasn’t technically a goodbye, since they would see each other fairly soon—, he changed the speech for a more… optimistic one. One that was a gentle warning, rather than an attempt to make Aziraphale back off —the day before, the angel asked if it was Crowley who didn’t want to do it and he dismissed the possibility with the reluctance of someone who can’t be lying—.

“I don’t know if all of them will be there. Maybe just a few, maybe everyone, I… I’ve never tried it, but we’re both aware it’s… more or less possible. It’s gonna be a huge effort, though. Some of them were… really something in the, uh, _emotional_ ground. If demons were emotional, of course. They might not show up or I might only manifest the ones who went through… the really heavy stuff. What I’m saying is… don’t expect a miracle, angel. That’s not my department.”

“I don’t expect anything but what you’re willing and capable of giving me, Crowley,” Aziraphale reassured him, hand caressing his cheek. “Although I do have a request, if that’s something you could agree on.”

“Tell me. You know… you know there’s nothing I wouldn’t… I mean, tell me and I’ll do it if… if I can.”

The angel smiled before revealing what was on his mind since the second he asked for what they were about to do:

“I’d really like to see you from 1967.”

Crowley frowned in confusion.

“That? Not… I don’t know, the nanny? The Bastille? ’Cause let me tell you, back at the Bastille… I felt that, y’know? I… I _felt_ it.”

“Oh, darling… couldn’t you feel what I was thinking about in 1967?”

The demon gulped and shook his head, incapable of looking away from his eyes. Aziraphale’s hands went to his tie and fixed it.

“Let me put it this way: if he does make an appearance, I’d very much like to apologize for my reluctance at the time, reassure him that it wasn’t a lack of interest and… make it up for him however he sees it convenient.”

Crowley cleared his throat, a visible shudder running down his spine.

“I’ll see what I can do. Oh, by the way, remember they might want… specific things from you. Don’t force yourself into anything you’re not 100% okay with. Whatever it is, you can tell them and… Well, keep in mind they’re all me and, no matter what they say or call you or ask you to do, they wouldn’t hurt you on purpose. And they…”

“They love me, I know... I love them, too.”

“Ngk. Alright, then, I should… leave now. But I’ll… we’ll be back… in some way.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

After a quick peck on his cheek, Crowley was gone and Aziraphale found himself alone in their cottage. He had a few hours to get dinner ready.

* * *

It was almost half past seven when the first knock on the door arrived. Aziraphale was setting the table ready —he didn’t know how many guests he would have, so the task proved to be far more challenging than he intended it to be—, lighting some candles and making sure every little detail in their rather crowded by decoration living room was perfect, when the familiar sound forced him to jump.

“Coming!” he announced in that sing-song voice he used when they had visitors, as if this was another reunion with his book club.

His hand trembled around the doorknob for an instant. The tinted window of the door only allowed him to see a vague silhouette and he was quite curious about who had Crowley sent first. Aziraphale did ask for his 1967 self, but perhaps it was indeed too hard to conjure, and Crowley was very fond of versions he considered more… stimulating. Whatever it was, Aziraphale reminded himself, it’d be okay.

“Hello.”

Aziraphale held his breath as a gloved hand extended towards him in a ‘kiss me’ fashion and only then it occurred to him that maybe he wasn’t as ready as he thought.

“I believe we haven’t been introduced yet,” the woman said.

She was right. Although Aziraphale saw Crowley during the Roaring 20’s a couple of times —America was a prolific place for both miracles and temptations all through the decade—, the storminess of their relationship at the moment stopped him from approaching her and prompted him to avoid her as much as he could —not a lot, really—.

Perhaps that was the reason behind how shocking it was to see her up close. Aziraphale might not be the most woman-attracted person —his only experiences with humans had been male—, but centuries had showed he was obsessed with Crowley in any shape they chose and he learned to appreciate their more feminine presentations on their own right.

“Um… hello,” Aziraphale smiled, kissing the back of her hand and guiding her inside the house. “Miss Crowley, I assume?”

“Indeed. Lovely to meet you.”

He should say it back and doubted just because it felt like an understatement. Crowley’s corporation was always in line with the beauty standards of 1920, so both the short curls framing her face and the long fur coat fitted her in such a way that made it impossible to imagine her looking anything different.

“Well, we have never spoken, but your face seems quite familiar,” Aziraphale confessed, helping her with her coat as she walked to the sofa.

“Does it?” she grinned with perverse curiosity, sitting down.

The angel rushed to sit by her side and nodded.

“Didn’t you frequent parties back in New York?”

“I most certainly did, but who didn’t at the times? I’m very surprised you happened upon me often enough for my face to become familiar.”

He chuckled nervously.

“I must admit I was always looking forward to happen upon you. I might had… attended a few specific parties in full knowledge that you were in the guest list.”

Miss Crowley seemed honestly surprised by the revelation. Her lips parted and her eyes widened behind her glasses, and Aziraphale feared that he had gone too far. Crowley, after all, was unaware of how desperate he was to see him in the years between their fight and reconciliation.

“Is that so?” she questioned, as casual as she wished for it to sound.

“Oh, yes, never would have dared to… pursue a friendly chat. You’ll remember things are the moment weren’t exactly…”

“Friendly.”

“I did… interfere once or twice. If my memory isn’t playing tricks on me, the gentlemen surrounding you were sometimes… rather insisting.”

“They were,” she agreed. “What did you do about it?”

Aziraphale hesitated. He didn’t understand the reach of the experiment and he wasn’t sure that he wanted Crowley to find out about that.

“This… very enthusiastic guest approached you one night. I was at the opposite side of the room and my first guess was that you were tempting him, but… you didn’t seem too excited about it.”

“I’m never truly excited about temptations.”

“I know, but this man… he was making you particularly uncomfortable, by the look of it. He was holding your hand after you told him not to and his face was very close to yours, even though you tried to get away. It made me angry, how brutish he was about his affection towards you, so I… I made his glass of champagne explode… in his hand.”

A grin bloomed on her face.

“So that was you, after all. I should have guessed. If I did it, even if it was by accident, that glass would have really injured him. But not you…”

“I wanted to hurt him, but I couldn’t. I… I was furious at him for thinking he could do whatever he liked to you. Or anyone else, for that matter. But you more than anyone.”

Miss Crowley leaned closer to him and her hand landed on his thigh, causing him to go stiff.

“I suppose I should thank you, then.”

Aziraphale was about to tell her she didn’t have to —perfectly aware that she would insist—, but a new knocking on the door forced him off his seat sooner than expected.

“I hope I’m not too late,” Nanny Ashtoreth greeted him once he opened. “I brought a few friends.”

She gestured to the side and Aziraphale stuck his head out the house to see. Of course Crowley was obsessed with him wanting his French Revolution and Rome versions to be there. The worst part was… it wasn’t untruth.

What did take him by surprise was the presence of a fourth Crowley, one he forgot to even allude, because of the emotional charge of him even existing somewhere. Crowley from The Blitz, with that look on his face that could only mean pain. He was hurting.

“Won’t you invite us in?” Nanny Ashtoreth pressured. “And I thought angels had better manners…”

“I-I’m sorry. Please come in. Let me help you with that.”

And he took her coat and hanged it with Miss Crowley’s. And as he did, he noticed the walk. Crowley from 1941’s walk; not the ridiculous one the burning ground under his feet forced out of him, but one that couldn’t be laughed at by the cruellest person. A consequence of the suffering he went through to save him.

“You poor dear,” Aziraphale muttered when they finally got to talk. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all that just…”

“Don’t say it, angel,” Crowley interrupted. “It’s alright, really. There’s… nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“I know, darling,” he smiled. “And it’s time for me to repay it.”

Suddenly, a hand tapped his shoulder, scaring him for a moment. He turned around and his expression fell just to put itself back together once he recognized her.

“Ah… Crawly, isn’t it?”

Crawly wrinkled her nose.

“At least for now.”

Aziraphale prompted Crowley from the Blitz to meet his other versions on the several seats they had scattered around the living room and offered his arm to Crawly, who took it.

“You go by ‘her’, right?” he asked. Had to make sure.

“Yes, I think I do,” she shrugged. “You… knew…”

“I suspected. Not that I would have minded. Gender is such a human concept…” And he quickly clarified: “I love what you do with it, though. I wish I was so creative and… Well, dear, you’re aware I like you in any shape and form you choose.”

Crawly looked down and chuckled.

“Even them.” She gestured at Nanny Ashtoreth and Miss Crowley, talking on the farthest couch, both unavoidably feminine in their own western ways.

Aziraphale grabbed her chin with finesse and guided her uncovered eyes back on his.

“All of you.”

She laughed again, more relaxed this time, trying to take weight off it, the fact that Aziraphale loved her, even as a she — _equally_ as a she—. It wasn’t strange for Crowley to present as female sometimes and Aziraphale confirmed it in several opportunities since they got together; but for this side of him, the side that met him just for the second time, so excited and eager to see him, it must have been overwhelming. She couldn’t feel love, after all, and Aziraphale himself couldn’t feel it that early on their relationship.

“I should tell you, by the way,” she started, and he raised his eyebrows in interest. Her voice went down: “I figured it out, why Noah needed two of each animal.”

Aziraphale gulped.

“D-did you?”

“Yes,” she grinned. “But I’d like a demonstration.”

Crowley warned him about this, how they would ask for different things. Aziraphale was thrilled to do as he was told, obviously, but he didn’t expect it to come so soon. He found himself coughing at her proposal.

“If that’s what you’d…”

“Angel, you left something in the oven?” Crowley from the Bastille nodded at him.

Aziraphale jumped.

“Um, actually, dear, I think I might have…” He nervously rushed to the kitchen. “Oh, please, everyone move to the dining room, if you’d be so kind. I already settled everything.”

Aside from a distant ‘I’m not kind!’ he received no protest as he left the living room and opened the oven in record time, a sigh of relief exiting him. He hadn’t burn anything. He always could perform a miracle to fix him, but that somehow felt like cheating tonight, when his purpose was to serve and serve alone.

He arrived to the dining room holding the platter filled with meat and vegetables under its lid to find everyone in their place. Everything was as spotless as he left it with a small, very notorious difference: instead of the dozen of plates he put all over the wooden surface, there was only one, right by his seat at the head of the table.

“Don’t look so confused, angel,” Bastille Crowley told him. “You know we prefer watching _you_ eat.”

Aziraphale shivered at those words and felt his cheeks heat up at how obtuse he was to believe cooking for them would be necessary. Of course Crowley wouldn’t eat.

“Eh, I could still use a drink,” Crowley from the Blitz admitted and everyone agreed.

Once he had filled all of their cups with wine, Aziraphale went back to his chair and grabbed the lid’s handle. That was when he heard one of them say:

“I hope it’s oysters.”

Aziraphale looked up from the platter to see who it was. Crowley from Rome shrugged.

“They say they’re aphrodisiac.”

The angel replied with a tight chuckle.

“So sorry, my dear. That will be some other time.”

He finally lifted the lid and wished himself ‘bon appetite’ out loud as he sat down to enjoy his meal.

“I’d really like some oysters now,” Rome Crowley insisted.

Aziraphale forced a grin, as if they weren’t speaking the same language. Well, of course they didn’t —English didn’t exist back then—, but a good thing about being a celestial being was the ability to understand any idiom.

“I apologize, I thought you all didn’t want to eat. I could miracle some oysters for you, if you wished, dear.”

“I’d like that.”

Unsure of it was a good idea to use another frivolous miracle —it’d be his eight one this week—, Aziraphale raised his hand and prepared to do the finger snap that would materialize a plate of oysters.

“If I’m allowed to speak,” Nanny Ashtoreth stopped him from the other side of the table, “I don’t think that was what Mr Crowley meant, dearie.”

Aziraphale searched for confirmation in Rome Crowley’s eyes.

“It isn’t?”

Rome Crowley grinned and shook his head.

“What…?” Aziraphale gulped. “What is it that you want, then, my dear?”

Another half-shrug.

“You’re smart, angel. Make an effort.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Since their relationship began, Aziraphale wasn’t against experimenting with gender and sex organs. It felt like something that couldn’t be helped, due to Crowley’s eternal propensity to change both things more often than not. It was about time for Aziraphale to do the same, with some doubts at the start and increasing confidence as he got used to it.

On the other hand, traditionally male configurations were his norm. He enjoyed presenting as a man and having a penis and a prostate, both so easy to please in comparison to the complexity of a vulva. His hedonistic side whose sexuality developed at Roman bathhouses and discreet gentlemen clubs was picky and leaning to the masculine plane of things, yet he still was open to try something different every now and then. Especially if Crowley asked for it.

Manifesting an effort when already turned on was “risky.” Not as in actually dangerous, but potentially overwhelming. This time, his cunt was so wet and throbbing with such urge —much more than he expected, but no one could really tell without genitals— he instinctively crossed his legs, tight, as Crowley from Rome left his chair and disappeared under the table.

Aziraphale gasped as his trousers and underwear were pulled down, revealing his aching effort. Crowley parted his knees even further and looked up to him, golden eyes shining in the darkness, serpentine tongue running over his lips before diving in. Then he had to bite on his fist to fight back a moan as that same tongue did wonders to his own lips, travelling up to his clit.

“You’re not eating that?” Crowley from the Bastille questioned, pointing at the platter.

Aziraphale opened his eyes and took a second to decipher what he meant. Nanny Ashtoreth gave him a silent warning first and then said:

“Eat, dearie.”

He nodded, obeying without a word with his shaky hands serving the meat and vegetables on his own plate. The first bite was the hardest. Just as he wrapped his mouth around the fork, Rome Crowley changed tactics and Aziraphale wasn’t sure what was closer to throw him out his seat: the technique or the slurping sound created by it. Suddenly his thighs were on Crowley’s shoulders as he ate him out with abandon.

“Don’t hold back, angel,” Crawly spoke. “I wanted to hear you and see you like this so much. Didn’t even know why or what that meant.”

“And you didn’t see him chained up,” Bastille Crowley pointed out.

To hear them discuss him like that, like he wasn’t even there, was almost as good as what was happening between his legs. And that mixing with the rich taste of his dinner… The dinner he cooked himself, no miracles involved… Every single pleasure in one. Well, except…

“Satan’s sake, so beautiful…” Rome Crowley groaned against his cunt, mouth full of it, the desperation of his work palpable on both his voice and the slick dripping down his cheeks. “I love you so much, angel…”

He came. He came faster than he ever did with this effort, just in time for the last bite. He also ate faster than ever, maybe infected by the same impulse that moved Crowley to taste him so deeply, so obsessively primal. He had to put his hands at each side of his plate in order not to fall head first on it, wrecked as he was. Under the table, Rome Crowley wiped his face clean with the back of his hand and smirked.

“Thank you, angel.”

He also returned to his seat like it was nothing, to make Aziraphale come like that with his less preferred configuration. But Crowley used to be like that, didn’t he? Never taking too much and never taking too much pride in what he gave. Some performative bragging, sure —he still was a demon and still had to make it seem like nothing he did for Aziraphale was truly that much of a bother—, but never sincere. Mostly, he was grateful for it, and that broke Aziraphale’s heart in a way that just wasn’t allowed when he had come so recently.

“And now…” Aziraphale beamed, breath laboured. “It’s time for dessert, isn’t it? I baked a chocolate mousse cake that it’s just to die for…”

“I want something too,” someone declared.

Miss Crowley, this time.

“What would it be, my dear lady?”

The lady in question grinned, finger tracing the edge of her glass.

“You see, angel, although you did save me that time, you were also incredibly inconsiderate.”

“W-was I?”

“Oh, yes, indeed. See, that fellow was not being a gentleman, but he was offering me a drink. And you made him the glass explode and didn’t offer me the same… kindness, as your lot would say.”

“A-ah, well… Terribly sorry, my dear.”

Miss Crowley lightly put her elbow on the table and her chin rested on her fingers.

“I think you should give me something to drink now. And since it’s been a century, it should be something very special.”

Aziraphale thought about it for an instant and his gaze lowered to his groin and back to her, as if asking ‘would this be okay?’

Miss Crowley chuckled.

“Dear, don’t get me wrong, I have no doubt it’s delicious, but I wish you’d give me something I can earn.” She turned to Rome Crowley. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he reassured her.

In this opportunity, even through the fogginess of his orgasm, Aziraphale understood exactly what she meant. Changing effort after such an intense climax wasn’t always a welcomed struggle, but he wanted nothing but pleasing them, so he did it, giving himself the usual, shorter-and-thicker-than-average cock.

“Alright, then,” Miss Crowley celebrated, satisfied beyond measure, doing just as her Roman counterpart did not so long ago, getting under the table.

“I should go get dessert first, don’t you think?” Aziraphale suggested with a trembling smile.

“Of course,” she agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS I'M DONE!!! Don't get me wrong, this was so much fun to write, but it was also rather time-consuming and I've been working on it since November, so it's nice to give it an end. I hope you enjoy this part, Cindy. It's not my best work, but I put a lot of heart into it <3

All settled, he took off his trousers and underwear —not without some struggle— and left his chair.

“You should take everything else off,” Crowley from the Blitz thought out loud.

“Yes, he’s right,” Rome Crowley nodded. “It makes no sense to keep clothes on at this point.”

Aziraphale lowered his eyes with bashful acceptance and took his waistcoat, bowtie and shirt. The exposure of being naked while everyone else was as dressed as always made him shudder more than the not-so-warm air in the dining room.

He rushed into the kitchen and returned a couple of minutes later with the mentioned cake. Its colossal size proved that he didn’t plan to eat it on his own, but he couldn’t say he was disappointed he’d have it all for himself.

“Here we are,” he announced, putting it on the table and pulling his chair out to sit.

He savoured the idea of the treat he was about to enjoy, disbelief of his good luck crossing his mind briefly. Then Nanny Ashtoreth pointed at the side of the cake and frowned.

“What is that?”

Aziraphale froze.

“W-what is what?”

She reached out to spin the plate in his direction, showing him what she meant. Oh, Lord, he thought no one would notice.

“Is that a fingerprint?” she guessed. “I sure hope it isn’t.”

Aziraphale wetted his lips and swallowed.

“I… I had to taste it, to see if it was good enough.”

“And you couldn’t just take a sample from the mix, could you?” She stood up and walked around him. “You had to ruin a perfect icing with your naughty fingers because you have no self-control when your hedonism comes to surface.”

“I’m really sorry…”

“Nanny.”

“I’m really sorry, Nanny.”

“Oh, you will be. Put that chair away, hands on the table, bum sticking out.” And she whispered in his ear: “Ten for starters, more if you’re a good boy.”

“But it was my turn,” Miss Crowley protested.

Nanny Ashtoreth’s hand reached under the table and to her short curls, a comforting pet.

“Don’t worry, dearie. You are not paying for our boy’s mistakes. I’m only using his backside; you can have his front.”

Good lord… His arse and cock getting simultaneous stimulation? How did they expect him to take so much at once? After coming with a different sex?

Overwhelming or not, he had to obey. He let his palms lie on the wood and stuck his arse out, feeling how Miss Crowley’s hand went under his belly and her fingers wrapped around his cock, a slight pull for better access that made him gasp.

“How many did I say?” Nanny Ashtoreth asked someone.

“Ten,” Crawly reminded her while Aziraphale moaned at the sudden heat surrounding his erection.

“Excellent. Let’s make them twenty.”

“T-twenty?!” Aziraphale whined.

She grabbed the back of his hair and tugged, not enough to hurt him, more like a reminder that she wouldn’t tolerate objections.

“Do you want me to make it twenty-five?”

Aziraphale’s mouth gapped for air and words as Miss Crowley started to properly suck on his cock. The sound finally came out his throat:

“N-no, I’m sorry.”

“That’s what I like.”

He almost didn’t register the first slap, so sharp and sudden his skin only processed the sting afterwards. Aside from that, nothing indicated that he had been slapped but his hips going unintentionally forwards, choking a short gag out of Miss Crowley.

“I-I’m sorry!”

But his apology felt empty when another smack repeated the movement.

“That’s two,” Nanny Ashtoreth established, and then something occurred to her. “By the way, don’t let this stop you from eating your cake.”

“B-but…”

“That’s also an order. Eat.”

And the third slap came.

“I don’t know if I can! It’s… it’s too much. I can’t eat while you do this. I’m going to make a mess,” he sobbed.

He could see her reconsidering over his shoulder, fingers rubbing her chin in search of concentration.

“You’re right,” she conceded, and gestured at Crowley from the Bastille. “You, come here and let him eat cake.”

Crowley rushed like she had any sort of power over him, too, taking a seat close to Aziraphale and grabbing a fork that he later filled with a mouthful of dessert. He waited for the fourth spank to be over to bring it to his lips, rejoicing in the noise the angel made when he could finally taste it.

A different kind of noise —more in line with the ones he had been making seconds ago— followed the fifth slap and another gagging sound from Miss Crowley. No. He couldn’t take it. He had to confirm she was okay and if that upset Nanny Ashtoreth, he’d be more than happy to go through some more punishment.

“C-can you…?” he struggled to say, although his voice cracked and left the sentence unfinished.

Miss Crowley pulled his cock out of her mouth and nodded with self-sufficiency, even pride.

“No true gag reflex, angel,” she winked at him. “That’s why demon girls have more fun.”

And she swallowed him again, and Bastille Crowley took his gasp as an invitation to push another bite between his lips. Aziraphale’s eyes rolled back into his skull as Nanny Ashtoreth spanked him with more force. She wasn’t holding back anymore. No one was.

When half the cake had disappeared and his behind burned so much he felt like he would explode, the tablecloth shifted. Aziraphale raised a little and realized Crawly had gotten under the table, too, and she was watching as Miss Crowley’s hand went up and down his shaft while she kissed and licked the tip.

“I didn’t know that was an option,” she said honestly. “Can I try it?”

Miss Crowley looked up at Aziraphale and after he gave a blissful defeated nod, she nodded at Crawly and conceded her some space to work.

“Just don’t forget the big prize is still mine.”

With everything settled, Crawly opened her mouth as wide as she could and took his cock in, just in time for one of the last spanks. However, unused to the push as she was, her gagging presented as a more serious problem. Aziraphale worried that he might actually hurt her.

“Do you think we could—” he tried to reason with Nanny Ashtoreth.

“Of course, dear. Sit down. I believe you learned your lesson.”

He doubted.

“Won’t it…?”

“Not at all. I’ve miracled any possible pain away. Just the light burn you enjoy.”

What a nice touch. How could she make him smile like this in such an… unconventionally intimate moment?

“Enough of that,” she said. “Sit down, chop, chop.”

Aziraphale returned to the seat he would have craved all this time if it wasn’t for the spanking and its consequences. Both Crawly and Miss Crowley kneeled between his thighs. Despite the latter claiming to allow the first to do as she pleased, she still wasn’t willing to give up all control over the act, so she remained near. Crawly didn’t take his complete cock again, but chose to lick and kiss down its side, imitating Miss Crowley’s movements as best as she could.

Aziraphale’s mouth was soon stuffed by another piece of cake, offered by Bastille Crowley’s powerful hand, fork long forgotten. If he had been dressed, a button of his shirt would have popped at this point. Nanny Ashtoreth, far from leaving the centre stage to everyone else, took place not too separated from the women on the floor, practically between them. She held both their heads and encouraged them to change rhythm and technique as she understood convenient.

Aziraphale watched them, stunned by the beautiful ladies at his feet. The Crowleys from Rome and the Blitz stared from the opposite side of the table, hunger in their eyes —almost as hungry as he still was for the cake being fed to him—, but somehow he couldn’t take his away from them.

Nanny Ashtoreth was now forcing them to take turns, each one deeper than the last. Her gaze was on his and Aziraphale was surprised by the lack of smugness in it. At the end of the day, all of them were Crowley, and the only thing they truly cared about was pleasing him. He smiled to send the message that it was working.

“Thank you for this,” he muttered, voice full of love.

She narrowed her eyes and looked away. Even though she was originally Crowley in disguise, whatever he had done to replicate himself and bring all these versions back gave her the personality she pretended to have, and, exciting as it was, there was a certain sadness about her being too tough to accept the compliment. It left him no option but insisting.

“You are so beautiful. It was all I could think about back then.”

This is what put a crack on her wall. Her serious expression turned hesitant.

“To see you like this… to see you in any form, but especially like this, every single day… it was torture.”

“It was torture for me, too,” she replied, hands still amazingly capable of controlling the speed and the turns of the other two ladies.

“Even with the teeth?” he giggled.

“You’re beautiful in all your forms, angel.”

Aziraphale didn’t get to widen his tender smile at that before his erection was down Crawly’s throat, who had developed far more abilities than she had when she started. Nanny Ashtoreth held her there for a second until the fully theatrical gagging was back and then pulled her back up like a fish out of the sea.

“I’m not going to last…” Aziraphale sniffled, cake smeared all over his lips and chin.

Miss Crowley pushed Crawly away, not giving her the chance to break her own record.

“Told you it was mine,” she reaffirmed and did what she was planning to do.

Aziraphale came in her mouth with a loud cry of pleasure, the last morsel of cake falling out to his chest. His cock was pumping its last drops and he thought nothing could worsen —or better?— the situation, just to be proven wrong by Bastille Crowley, who put his lack of interest in food aside to clean his chocolate-covered skin.

“ _Ah…_ ” Aziraphale panted in release.

“Thank you, angel.” Miss Crowley patted his thigh.

The three women left their position under the table and Crowley from the Bastille miracled all trace of cake with a snap of his fingers, leaving Aziraphale in pristine conditions.

“And thank _you_ , darling,” he said.

“Don’t thank me, angel. I’m a demon,” Crowley grinned. “I’m certain there is something else you can do to express your gratitude.”

“Oh, and what would that—”

A new weight on his hands stopped him. He looked down and found chains around his wrists. They didn’t go anywhere and just kept his arms connected, yet the power they seemed to have over him was beyond physical. They indicated that he was helpless, despite being anything but that.

He licked his lips and looked up at Crowley.

“Shall we move to the living room?” Crowley suggested.

“Shouldn’t we take care of the dishes first?”

“It’s alright. I’ll do it,” Crowley from the Blitz offered.

“But, darling, your feet…”

“Ngk, don’t worry about that. I enjoy doing things for you.”

“Sweetheart…”

“Besides, you could pay me later.”

“Later,” Bastille Crowley emphasized, grabbing the end of the chains and pulling Aziraphale to his desired room as if he was a dog. The rest followed them.

The first thing Bastille Crowley did when arriving to the living room was falling on the couch, legs parted and framing Aziraphale’s kneeling nakedness. Crowley’s clothes weren’t magically disappeared, but the angel suspected there were some miracles involved in how quickly he managed to pull them aside.

Aziraphale sighed at the sight of his raging cock. Although he did enjoy being taken care of more than anything, pleasuring Crowley was an indulgence he could never get enough of. He was, at the end of the day, a hedonist obsessed with tasting and all of Crowley’s flavours were to die for in his opinion.

There was always something about taking a man to Heaven, so to speak, but no one before Crowley made him feel quite so needed and needy about it. Right now, with his long fingers tangled between his curls, guiding him to go deeper as his other versions stared, Aziraphale knew he couldn’t ask for anything more. Just this for the rest of his immortal life would do.

“Good L-… Sa-… Someone, angel,” Crowley groaned. “Where did you learn that?”

Aziraphale let go of his cock with a ‘pop!’ and smiled against it.

“Rome.”

“Rome?!” The Crowley from that period exclaimed behind him.

Aziraphale looked at him over his shoulder and gave him a sympathetic shrug before getting back to work.

“Should have seen him talking to those plants and practically masturbating them like some bloody Disney princess,” Nanny Ashtoreth grunted.

The angel moaned around the cock when Crowley’s hands fell to both side of his head, keeping him in place as he slowly dared to thrust up.

“Make the chains sound if it becomes too much,” he muttered, staring into the widened and teary eyes.

Aziraphale nodded a broken ‘mhm’ that sent intoxicating vibrations down his member, but his shudders soon evolved into a possessive urge that pulled him out of his seat and closer to Aziraphale’s face. There already was a safeword for tonight’s scene and he could use telepathy if things got heavy; however, having such a clear method of pause washed any reluctance he could have away.

Aziraphale dropped to the floor when Crowley’s body forced him backwards until his back touched the carpet. Crowley was now straddling his face, pushing in and out of his mouth with a firm grasp of his hair for leverage and stability. It was glorious, everything Aziraphale had in mind when he came up with the idea. Although being praised and indulged was wonderful, the original intention was to serve, repay all the wonders Crowley had done for him, knowing he would never ask for repayment under different circumstances.

Crowley came deep down his throat in a matter of seconds, though he suspected, deducting by the long minutes he could take, that he rushed for his comfort. His suspects were confirmed when the demon made the chains disappear and kneeled by his side, helping him sit up as they were surrounded by his equally concerned clones.

“Angel, are you okay?”

“We didn’t hurt him, did we?” Miss Crowley asked, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

“I don’t think so,” Nanny Ashtoreth frowned, alarm still in her voice. “He can take much more than that, I’d expect.”

“But what if—” Crawly started.

“N-no, I’m okay! Great, even, one could say,” Aziraphale calmed them after swallowing the load. “I… Don’t worry, darling… eh, darlings, you didn’t hurt me.”

Bastille Crowley opened his mouth to talk —surely relieved words— and the sound of another version entering the room stopped him. Crowley from the Blitz crossed the place to Aziraphale’s favourite chair —the soft tartan one— and sighed as his sore feet landed on the footrest.

“Too bad?” Aziraphale pouted sincerely.

Crowley shrugged.

“It was worse when I was doing it.”

“Poor dear…”

From anyone else, this might have come as condescending; from Aziraphale, it meant he would do anything in his power to help. So it wasn’t a surprise when he crawled, despite the blessed tiredness he had exhibited instants ago, towards him to help him out his shoes and socks.

“Angel, you don’t have to…”

“I want to,” he smiled, taking hold of his left foot and lifting it to make rubbing it easier.

Crowley did several attempts to dismiss his own discomfort. It wasn’t that bad, really. Not a burn, at least, just a superficial pain that became stronger when he took a step. Aziraphale paid no mind to any of his objections and as soon as his lips touched the big toe, there was no way Crowley was opposing.

“Better?”

The demon gulped and made an affirmative noise.

“Thank you.”

“Oh, no, darling, you’ve been thanking me this whole evening,” Aziraphale shook his head, so in love it hurt. “And this was supposed to be about me thanking you for everything you’ve done.” He looked around to the others, who now were around him. “Everything all of you have done, and especially you.” He focused back on Crowley from the Blitz. “Walking on sacred ground just to save me… and my books.”

“It was nothing, really,” Crowley insisted.

Aziraphale licked a striped over the sole of his foot and moved to the right one.

“You’re wrong, dear. It was everything.” He repeated the gesture. “You could have just avoided me the paperwork, but you chose to go all the way and save something that was important to me. Something you didn’t see any real value in.”

“They were worthy because that was what they were to you.”

“Undoubtedly,” he said, planting a kiss on his heel. “But nothing has more worth than you.”

“ _Angel…_ ” Crowley mumbled, on the verge of tears, by the sound of it. “Uh… Angel…”

“What is it?”

Crowley gestured at his groin, pressed against the softness of the footrest. Aziraphale blushed. He didn’t realize, so caught in Crowley’s satisfaction, that his cock had been rubbing all over it and the friction awaked it.

“Oh, I see… Well… what shall we do about it?”

“I know what,” Crowley from Rome intervened, wrapping his hand around his erection without further ado.

“Oh, my… I didn’t… Wait, where are we…”

“Right here, angel,” 1941 Crowley nodded towards his own feet. “It’s okay. I think some blessing might be all they need to feel better.”

“That doesn’t make any sense… — _oh, yes, squeeze a bit tighter…_ — If anything, it could bring you more pain, not heal you…”

“I’m not sure about that. You’ve never been too holy for me.”

“I suppose I… I haven’t… _oh!_ ”

Aziraphale exploded once more, in incoherent gasps and far more cursing than he would have liked. Rome Crowley made sure to paint every inch of skin with his seed and the liquid warmth seemed to ease 1941 Crowley’s aching quite a lot, according to the noise that bloomed out his mouth.

Aziraphale had to perform impossible acrobatics given the intensity of his most recent orgasm not to collapse on his lover’s feet. It probably helped that both Rome and Bastille Crowley kept him in place with protective arms embracing his waist and shoulders, and Crawly rested against his back, cheek pressed between his shoulder blades, hands on his hips.

“I told you it’d make me feel better,” Crowley from the Blitz smirked, disappearing all fluids and putting his socks and boots back on. “You always do.”

“It’s very mutual, believe me,” Aziraphale told him, coming back to his senses and standing up. “Alright, now, who is next?”

“I think I am,” Crawly said after some hesitance.

“Oh.” A pause, not as awkward as he predicted, but long enough for him to breathe in some extra air. “Shall we go to the bedroom, then?”

Crawly agreed and all of them walked —quiet, cautious steps— to their next location.

Aziraphale couldn’t stop shaking. The first time he had sex with Crowley, both of them were experienced, despite how limited Crowley’s experience was compared to his. Crawly, on the other hand, didn’t even understand the concept of reproduction until sometime between Noah's Ark and today, and Aziraphale suspected she hadn’t found out about oral and manual stimulation until tonight. This wouldn’t be his first encounter with a virgin, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in fear that he would hurt her or scare her away.

His insecurities intensified once they were on the bed, his head on the pillow and her by his side. The others stood at the door.

“Are you sure?” he asked in a gentle voice, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“Can I… can I see how it’s done first?”

“Of course.” He raised his head to look at the group, simultaneously transforming his limp cock into a vulva, since it was the configuration Crawly would find easier to understand —and maybe the one she was wearing—. “Who would like to do us the honours?”

“I’d like to, if you don’t mind,” a voice came from behind them.

Aziraphale held his breath in when 1967 Crowley walked into the room.

“You could make it…” he whispered, happy.

“It took me a while, sorry.”

“Come here, my love.” Aziraphale opened his arms and received him between them once he crawled up the bed, savouring the hug life denied them for centuries. “I’m the one who made you wait.”

“It wasn’t your fault, angel—”

“It was nobody’s fault, but it hurt all the same.”

They were kissing now, words exhaled against each other’s mouths, eyes never closing despite how awkward it could get. Kissing Crowley was always natural, like breathing —if they needed to breathe—. Even at the beginning of their official romance, nothing ever felt wrong or out of place, not even weird. Not bad weird, at least.

“I need you to know,” Aziraphale said, guiding Crowley’s cock towards his entrance after vanishing his clothes —it shouldn’t become an habit, but…—, “it hurt me as well, all that rejection. And I never meant it. And I’ll never…” His pitch went up for a moment when the insertion was made, ending in a moan that caused both of them to tremble. “I’ll never deny you again. They can come here and torture me all they want, but I’ll—”

“Shhh, angel, I know, I… — _oh—_ … Thisss isssn’t too… fasssst for you, isss it?”

Aziraphale laughed, tears running down his face as he pressed their foreheads together and held him closer.

“That’s not possible, darling.”

It also wasn’t the case. Perhaps moved by the suddenly satisfied urge, they were taking it astonishingly slow. Crowley entered and exited his body with the finesse of a surgeon, with long, gentle thrusts that had Aziraphale’s head spinning. That in addition to the pressure of Crawly on his side, Nanny Ashtoreth’s hand on his hair, Bastille and Rome Crowley kissing his fingers and palms and Miss Crowley and Crowley from the Blitz massaging his feet, pushed him farther towards the edge than he had ever felt.

“I love you,” Aziraphale gasped to no one in particular… to everyone. “I love all of you, dear. Every single… _Fuck!_ ”

His last orgasm struck him like a lightning and the contractions of his inner walls were the only thing Crowley needed to come as well. Aziraphale shut his eyes and clung to him even tighter as the hands and mouths all over him disappeared. When he opened them again, the demon on top of him was no longer Crowley from the 60s, but the current one, smiling down at him like he was the one who hung the stars.

“I love you, too, angel.”

Aziraphale wiped some sweat from his beloved’s forehead and grinned.

“Thank you for doing this.”

“Are you kidding? That was not a chore. I could feel… all of that, y’know?”

Aziraphale didn’t stop himself from chuckling.

“You foul fiend.”

Between kisses and soft ‘goodnights’, their evening came to an end.

**Author's Note:**

> My twitter is @datcheesycake, if you want to interact and see how I'm doing beyond my lazy ass not writing stuff <3


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